


Half the world

by ardvari



Series: the lives and times [9]
Category: Stargate SG-1, Stargate Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardvari/pseuds/ardvari
Summary: “Where do you wanna go?” he asks her on the screen, the dimly lit ship’s bridge behind her.He can see her shrug; think for the fraction of a second before the corners of her mouth pull up.“Fishing,” she says, and he smiles, drops his eyes.





	Half the world

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to _Satellite heart_. Last part of this series!

**Half the World**

“Where do you wanna go?” he asks her on the screen, the dimly lit ship’s bridge behind her. 

He can see her shrug; think for the fraction of a second before the corners of her mouth pull up.

“Fishing,” she says, and he smiles, drops his eyes.

It’s early December and they’ve been through hell, both of them. She lost two of her 302 pilots, and he had to deal with Young’s second guessing. His bad decision. Lots of paperwork, lots of anger. Maybe he’s used to people operating like Sam, calculating, making the right choices even if it’s hard. He’s not used to people screwing up. He’s used to people functioning well when they’re put in command of something. 

“Fishing, eh?” he asks, leaning back against one of the empty desks. 

Everyone else has gone home or is taking a break. He has five minutes alone with Sam on the screen, a novelty neither of them usually gets. She nods, crosses her arms in front of her chest and tilts her head at him. 

“Little fishing, cabin in the winter…” she trails off. 

He smirks, wonders if she knows how much snow has fallen in the Midwest. Footsteps behind him, he straightens up and clears his throat. 

“Alright Colonel, I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he says, his voice all business.

“Yes sir,” she says, and he’s still awed by how fast she can snap back, that she doesn’t ever screw up, never calls him anything but ‘sir’ and ‘General’ when they’re talking like this. 

He watches one of the other screens, tracking the _Hammond_ until it enters hyperspace again. Every time she leaves, there’s a sliver of fear that wedges itself into his heart. What if something goes colossally wrong and she doesn’t come back? 

He shakes that cold feeling off, trudges into his office. The Lucian Alliance is a problem, and a pesky one, but they’re not the Goa’uld, or the Replicators, or the Ori. They’re an intergalactic drug gang but they have their weaknesses, these pirates. They have their weaknesses and their corruptions. 

She has to go through a week of briefings at the SGC, scrutinized by the IOA, before she flies up to the cabin. He’s already there, already had to buy a new generator because the old one finally caved. There’s snow on the ground and a blizzard on the way, and her plane is delayed by an hour. 

He buys himself a coffee, one of those small, strong ones in a brown plastic cup, sipping it while he watches the first snowflakes fall outside. He’s fairly sure that Sam hasn’t seen a real winter in a couple of years. Hasn’t been home long enough to enjoy the snow, to even worry about winter tires and wearing gloves. 

She’s wearing dress blues when she finally walks through the sliding glass doors, pulling a small suitcase behind her. He grins, can’t help himself, he hasn’t seen her face to face in over seven months and here she is, her hair a little darker, the lines around her eyes etched a little deeper. She walks right up to him, throws her arms around his neck. He lifts her up a little, making her giggle, holding her tight. 

“Welcome home, Sam,” he whispers, kissing her temple. 

She doesn’t answer, just clings to him a while longer. When she finally lets go, she cups his face and draws his lips down to hers for a kiss. 

“Missed you,” she smiles. 

“Right back at ya,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

They have to get groceries on the way to the cabin and she’s a little uncomfortable in her formal uniform, ducking, folding in on herself, hunching her shoulders when people stare and children point at her. Her heels click on the grocery store’s spotted linoleum and she follows him, tells him which vegetables to buy. Tells him not to buy so much junk food with a pointed look at his midsection. This desk job has not been kind to him. He glowers at her; he doesn’t like it when she points out that he isn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore. He doesn’t _have_ to be. He’s a General. He’s earned this desk job. 

She’s not deterred by him, takes his hand and puts a couple of cans of tomato soup into their basket. A couple of kids stare at her, their mouths hanging open. She isn’t wearing a jacket, just her dress blues, despite the cold and next time, next time she’ll make him bring her winter coat to the airport. 

Jack squeezes her fingers, knows exactly how she feels. He hates sticking out like a sore thumb in public, people wondering who he is, what it is he does that has gotten him this uniform. He never knows what to say when a brave kid comes up and asks; has he been to Afghanistan? Has he fought in Iraq? He can’t say no, he’s fought out there, up in the sky, among the stars. He doesn’t know if there’s a correct thing to say. 

Just like her, he just doesn’t know what to do in public with his dress blues on and the entire world wondering about him. 

“Let’s go home,” he says, grabbing a bottle of diet coke for her on the way. 

He pays and then they’re on their way through the falling snow. He rented a truck this time and it’s safer than most of the cars still on the road. By tomorrow nobody’s going to go anywhere. They’ll be snowed in completely. 

She relaxes in the truck, shivers a little in the cold until he tells her to move over on the bench seat. She settles against his side, smiling, peering through the disorienting snow at the small strip of street they can still see. 

“I hate driving in this,” she says. 

She’s blown up a sun, she’s made countless pieces of technology not only work, but work better, and here she is complaining about driving in the snow. 

“Me too,” he says. “But you kinda get used to it up here. You just learn to deal with it.”

“Ever landed in the ditch?” she asks, one of those things she doesn’t know, that hasn’t come up before. 

“Many times. I was a bit of a… reckless driver,” he answers, clearing his throat.

She giggles, shakes her head. 

“Doesn’t sound like you at _all_ ,” she says, her voice dripping sarcasm. 

“Oh hey, I’ve gotten better over the years. Wiser.”

She smiles, puts her hand on his thigh and squeezes gently. When he turns off the main road he can practically feel her excitement. She hasn’t been here in way too long, she needs this vacation, she needs to unwind and relax and just be on Earth for a while. 

He parks right in front of the cabin, the nose of the truck almost up against the front porch railing. The wind’s picked up and she grabs the grocery bags, carries them in quickly, trying not to slip in her heels. He follows with her suitcase, unlocks the door while trying to shield her a little from the wind. 

That’s something he’s always been good at, shielding her when he was able to, pulling her away from falling rocks, out from underneath a bomb drifting towards her. He pushes the door open with his foot and ushers her inside. 

It’s warm in the cabin despite the fire having gone out and she sighs happily, stretching a little. She pulls off her heels, puts the bags in the kitchen and is already halfway out of her blouse before she reaches the bedroom. 

He follows her because he has her suitcase and sits down on the bed, watches her peel off her uniform, roll down her pantyhose. When she’s in her underwear, she turns around and smiles at him, hands on her hips. 

“What?” he asks. 

She walks towards him and sits down on his lap, her knees on the bed. Her skin is warm and he lets one hand rest on her hip, runs the other along her braid. He tugs on the elastic until it comes off and he can comb through her hair gently, shaking out a couple of knots. 

“I really miss you when I’m out there,” she says, her voice growing soft around the edges. 

He pulls her close, holds her flush against his body for a while. 

They make love slowly that night, on a nest of blankets and pillows in front of the fire, and then they have an entire week to just relax and forget about the world out there. A whole week to just be, to wander around in the snow, to have a short-lived attempt of a snowball fight. 

When he takes her back to the airport, they’re both quiet, both in weird moods. He’s not sure how long he can do this, how long he wants to be at Homeworld Security. He’s getting cranky and tired of it all. She still has stars in her eyes, still has that restless energy about her that tells him she’s not done, not yet. 

And so he kisses her hard, holds her tight. He pulls off his dog tags and slips them over her head, tucks them into her blouse and then rests his hand over them where they fall against her chest. 

“Always, always come home to me,” he whispers.

“I’ll try,” she says, because she can’t promise that she will and he knows that.


End file.
